I Blame My Feet
by Sammy-Dee
Summary: Axel and Demyx are both in denial, but one day, a choice Axel blames on his feet, brings the two together. Akudemy


AN: _italics = the voice Axel hears _normal text = Axel's normal thoughts, though both voices are him, they're just two sides of him.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

**. : : I Blame My Feet : : .**

Have you ever felt worthless? Like you don't contribute anything to society or even your own family, and that you don't matter in any way. And while you stare at the stairs imagining yourself tripping and crashing down all thirteen flights, do you wonder if anyone would truly miss you. Probably not, huh? It's something only someone as insane as me could possibly think about. I'm not emo, mind you. I just have a high level of unreasonable, over exaggerated emotional distress. There's a difference. _Yeah, it's called denial._ Shut up!

I'm not in denial! I've got vibrant red hair that sticks up in every direction just screaming 'Axel's here look at me'. My wardrobe isn't a sea of black, I wear colors. Purple is my favorite color, by the way. I imagine my death from time to time…_every day, several times a day_…shut up…but I don't cut, and I never go through with those things that play out in my head, they're just silent movies for me to enjoy while I walk to college. There's nothing emo about enjoying killing yourself in your head. _Do I really need to say anything to that?_ Alright, it's a little emo, but seriously, I'm not an emo. Alright, understand that. Not emo, just emotionally distressed. _You tell yourself that._

With every bit of strength I possessed I forced my rebellious feet to move forward, through the crowd of people, along the city sidewalk, while I continued to argue with myself. Yes, it would seem my insanity stretches farther than the occasional…_incredibly common_…imagined death of myself because I do fight with myself quite often. _It's because you know you're a screw up and need to be yelled at but no one else will yell at you so you have me do it, and I am you._ And I is quite annoying. It's not a good place, my head. It's terrifying to be truthful. And on top of that, my feet and I, we don't get along at all.

The mob of people around me were rushing pass, pushing, shoving and yelling at me and everyone else in their attempt to get to work on time, completely unaware of my inner battles, and what my life could easily come to if I take four steps to my right. And where is my destination you might ask, well, no you probably wouldn't because you probably don't give two shits about me, but I'm bored and have no one to talk too…_what am I_…so I'm going to tell you anyway. I am on my way to school. I don't really care for the place but whatever; it makes the parent folk happy and gives me something to do. Also, I'm quite lucky to have my parents, so I better be damn appreciative of their hard earned money and go to the school they are paying for me to go to.

Why am I lucky to have them? Well that's simple really, they adopted me. They certainly didn't have to do that, especially since I seem to be the main subject of their fights. _They fight a lot. Not small fights either. They're all out wars._ And I'm just their unappreciative little brat child and I know it. _Damn straight, that's why you have me. I'll put you in your place bitch._ Straight isn't really the correct word to describe me. See, some people are straight straws, some people are bent straws, and I'm a crazy straw. Part of me is perfectly straight and normal, but that other part, it starts to bend, and then it gets all fucked up. I'm not saying my being bisexual is a bad thing. The initial bend in my straw is perfectly fine. It's all the other bends, twists, curves, and what not that cause the trouble. That's probably one of the reason's my parents fight. Mom loves me unconditionally but Dad has some issues, not with me being bi, but with my abnormal behavior. As soon as I turned eighteen he wanted me out, and despite my mother's struggles to keep me, I'm now living in an apartment. _But they pay for it thanks to mommy dearest._ Yes, my dad has to pay for my apartment. That was the condition for kicking me out. But as long as I'm not home to corrupt my younger siblings with my insanity he is happy.

You know, just a few steps to the right and it could all end. Just step, step, step, step, BAM, BING, BOOM, SPLAT, all over. _Then your mama would cry. And she'd fall apart when she had to identify your mutilated body in the morgue._ It was a hypothetical situation. No one is planning anything! Seriously! I hate myself sometimes. I just never shut up. _It's because you secretly adore me._ I do not. _Then you are saying you hate yourself because I am you._ I already said I hate myself, I'm not denying that.

So where was I? Oh, I hate school. Yes, I do, I really do. And even though it gives me something to occupy my day with, it's not enough to inspire me to show up on time. It's not like I purposefully show up late. I just don't put much effort in getting there on time. But today I had left with plenty of time to spare. It's just these feet, these damn feet, sometimes they'd rather walk me in front of oncoming traffic, into a bank in the process of being robbed, or under a construction site where I'd risk falling debris. And sometimes, they just want to take me back home so I can crawl into bed and sleep the rest of my life away. Yes, my feet think all of this through, very carefully, but my head tells them to keep moving forward and stick to the routine.

What's the routine? The routine is what keeps me kicking. Wake up, bathroom, shower, eat, school, home, eat, homework, write, eat, homework, sleep, repeat. Pretty fucking epic: My life in a nutshell. And these feet take me everywhere, reluctant as they are. It's not entirely as simple as it sounds. See the entire time I do this routine I'm fighting with that asshole…_you just called yourself an asshole_…I can't tell if it's my conscience or not. It seems more like a pest who's trying to make my life a living hell. Not only am I dealing with that fucking voice…_Uh, I don't get laid so you can't call me a 'fucking voice'. In order to get laid, you need to talk to people, or pay someone, you do neither. So we're only friendly with your hand_…Yeah whatever. The other thing I need to deal with is my damned feet. When I wake up, they don't want to get out of bed. When I go to the bathroom they want me to get cut by my razor. When I jump in the shower they want me to take the blow dryer with…_Still plugged in, of course_…Of course. When I eat they tell my hands to shove the food in my mouth so hard that I choke. They're pretty tame at school…_unless they see a potentially dangerous situation_…yeah. Bed is simple, that's where they wanted to be the entire day, so they behave. And writing…hmm…what can I say about that. Writing is the only time everyone shuts up. It's just me and the paper. And it's all quite. It doesn't matter that no one will see what I write. It all sucks so that hardly matters. The only thing that matters is that it gives me a release. _We can't be that bad._ Do I need to say anything to that?

I came to a stop when the 'Don't Walk' sign blinked red. Cars zoomed across the paved streets, while business men and women spoke on their cell phones, a mother juggled a baby in one arm while whipping puke off her shoulder and keeping an eye on her other young child, and a dirty blond mulleted man stared off into space with a guitar case on his back. Then a thought came to me…_ignore it_…and I kind of liked the thought. No one here would stop me if I gave my feet permission to ignore that sign and stepped forward. Not one person would care, or even notice what I was doing, until my blood splattered their clothes and my various organs smacked them in their faces. Shaking the gruesome painting out of my head, I realized the light changed and everyone was walking across the street. Everyone except the dirty blond who was still daydreaming or something…_Maybe he's having a seizure and can't move._ That's a horrible thing to say. _Poke him, see what happens._ I have to go to school. I forced my rebellious feet to follow the others over the crosswalk, and we continued that way all the way to school.

School went by like a blur. I came, I went, I saw, I failed to learn a damn thing because I wasn't listening to the teachers. Why you ask? _They didn't ask_…Shut up, I'm talking…_to imaginary people_. They're my adoring fans, leave me alone, and stop cackling, it's scary. Where were we…oh yes. I don't listen because, well, obviously that damn voice is in my head, so I'm either fighting with that during lectures, or writing to shut it up. _I really wish you would learn to love me._ On top of that, I just don't care about anything anymore. I don't know what I want to do with my life, so I don't see the point in school, and I can't even see a future for myself. Most people imagine getting married, having children, maybe a dog, and a job they love to go to, but my mind only seems capable of imagining very creative deaths for me.

What happened to make me this way? I have no fucking clue. All I know is that I feel alone, and isolated, even in a sea of people. I don't find joy in anything anymore, and I used to be this outgoing chatter box, always ready to get the party started and have fun, while people beg me to please, just please shut up for a minute. And getting out of bed in the morning is now the hardest thing I've ever had to do. Friends you ask? Well, I don't talk to them much anymore. Not since I moved. They haven't called me anyway, so I'm sure they don't want to talk.

---

Have you ever wanted someone to notice you? And not just anyone, someone you don't know at all and who doesn't even know you exist. But you know he exists. He consumes your every thought, action, naughty dream, song, motion, morning, cereal. Okay, maybe I'm getting carried away, but I swear I saw him in my cereal this morning. The point is, one day you saw this beautiful mansexgod throw a sheet of paper away after class. And rather than being a normal, not insane person, you dug through the trash and found said sheet of paper. Then you went home and wrote music to the lyrics you found on that paper. And when you finished you declared you were in love with the man you'd never met, simply because his words touched you so deeply and brought music to your heart that your crazy uncle, who got you in trouble with everyone, never could.

It's true I tell you. I could literally feel the author's hands all over my skin, his breath lightly running across my neck in a slow and steady rush, and now I'm stealing words. But really, he was all over me, all day, and I couldn't possibly go two seconds without thinking of him, because his lyrics were constantly with me, and his hands always on me. Maybe that's a strange thing to be feeling when you don't even know someone, but I wouldn't change it, because it's just too amazing.

I hid quietly behind the large dumpster as the redhead neared it. He then threw a bag of trash in and slowly walked away, almost as if he was having a battle with his feet. I noticed that a lot, because I watch him a lot. But not like a stalker, I'm not a stalker; I'm just very interested in the man that makes my heart pound. A persistent admirer, if you will. Anyway the point is I see him randomly stop in the middle of walking, like his feet have just decided they won't go any further. Then he'll talk to himself a bit, and his feet slowly begin moving again. It's a very peculiar behavior, but I can't help but find it incredibly appealing and interesting. It just makes me want to get to know him that much more. But, as of yet, I have not worked up the proper amount of courage to talk to him.

When he finally entered the apartment building we lived in, I jumped out from behind the dumpster, nearly giving an old lady a heart attack. Her hands, even the one with a garbage bag, flew to her chest, her eyes opened wide, and a strangled scream left her lips, or maybe that was me, or both of us. But it didn't take long for her to recover and her brows creased before she proceeded to beat me with the garbage bag in her hand. And I don't know what kind of garbage old ladies have, but it hurt. I shrieked at the horror of being killed by a garbage bag and tried to use my hands to block the smelly weapon. Then it broke open and I squeaked in disgust just as she yelled at me, "You hooligan, scaring an old woman half to death. Someone should show you some manners." She finished reprimanding me and continued to hit me with what little remained in the garbage bag, though I had a distinct feeling that it may be a brick.

"Ah, I'm sorry ma'am." I held my arms up, protecting myself from the onslaught of the old lady, who really looked like, on a normal day, she'd be a really kind old lady; the loving grandma type. "I didn't mean to. It was an accident."

"Why were you hiding behind a dumpster?" She asked after calming down, and ending her tirade.

"I was being sneaky while I waited for the mansexgod to throw his trash out at the same time he does every day, so I can dig through it."

"Oh, so you like the cock do you." She stated.

"Wha-," Complete and utter shock filled me. The woman looked like she could be my grandma and that's just not something you'd expect your sweet, old, cookie baking, grandma to say. Then again, she did just beat me with a trash bag.

"So you're stalking the poor boy?"

"I am not!" I said in a scandalized fashion. How dare she accuse me of such a heinous crime? "We are simply exchanging a bit of work."

"What?"

"He gives me his lyrics," I gestured to the dumpster, "And I write the music for them."

"And he put them in the trash…because he wants you to do this?"

"Yes," I beamed, "He just doesn't know it yet!"

"I think I need to call the cops."

"You do that ma'am, I have some lyrics to search for." I said before climbing in and digging through the unsanitary box until I found the redhead's lyrics. When I had all of the sheets of paper tucked into a pocket of my coat I climbed back out, relieved to find the bag lady was gone. Then I made my way into the building and up to the ninth floor. Once I entered my room I sat down at the piano and began to write.

---

The sounds of traffic announced a new morning and I groaned my absolute disgust at the prospect of living another day. Maybe I wouldn't get out of bed today. No one would miss me anyway. And after watching an old lady beat a blond boy outside my window, I had decided to go to bed early yesterday, so none of my homework is done. Yes, I think I'll stay in bed today, and my feet agree.

---

Where is he?! Walking to school is so much better when I have eye candy. And having the eye candy makes it easier for me to daydream about working up the proper amount of courage to walk up to the yummy redhead and introduce myself. He better be in class today, doesn't he know I plan my whole day around him?!

---

I finally dragged myself out of bed, sometime after twelve, I didn't really pay attention, and I was now staring out of my window, wondering what it'd be like to jump out. As I imagined myself splattered across the ground I spotted the blond that had gotten the beating from that old lady yesterday, furiously running through the parking lot and over my pancaked body.

I wonder who he's in such a rush for. Maybe his parents want him home so they can hug and kiss him, or his puppy needs to be let out, or maybe he's got a date. That's probably it. And I'll bet she's beautiful. They'll get married, their mom's will cry and their families will celebrate. Then they'll have their two point five kids and live out the rest of their lives happily ever after.

My thoughts were soon interrupted by a loud pounding on my door. Immediately my mind and feet went to battle. See, my feet seemed to think I should get the door, but my head says no.

---

He wasn't there!

I waited the entire class period, but my redhead never showed up. So, without putting much thought into it, which is something I rarely do anyway, I decided to skip my next class and go check on him. See, with all of the following, or um, the coincidental following I do, I've noticed that certain 'danger' areas seem to catch his eyes. Not to mention his lyrics are completely doom and gloom. It was concerning for him to not be here.

So without further ado, I ran home, thinking of my redhead, who didn't even know I existed. How do I know where he lives? Well, what kind of secret friend would I be if I didn't know? Okay, that didn't really answer you. I found out when I was getting mail one day. He walked up next to me and I could only stare while he remained completely oblivious to me.

But I did find out that his apartment was the one right beneath mine. So naturally, my floor and I got to know each other very well during the hours I spent laying down, and listening to what was going on downstairs. That sounds really bad doesn't it? I'm not a stalker! I'm overly friendly! There's a difference, okay?!

---

My feet won. Damned feet! I stood up from my windowsill and made my way to the door. My fingers gently grazed the piano keys as I walked pass it and I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror. I certainly didn't look my best, but I hadn't been expecting company.

I ran my fingers through my unrestrained red spikes in a half assed attempt to calm them down. It didn't really do a damn thing. Not like anyone cares what I look like right? Yeah. So giving up on my appearance…_you're kind of hopeless anyway_…I continued to walk to the door where the insistent knocks persisted growing in vigor every moment I didn't answer. "I'm coming, I'm coming." I called and then opened the door.

I'm almost positively sure my jaw dropped. It was the man who was beaten by the old woman. And he's sexy. _Are you sure sexy is a strong enough word? I mean, he's like drop dead gorgeous instant bone-…_ His dirty blond hair is styled in a mohawk like mullet, his eyes are the prettiest shade of blue I've ever seen, and that smile, it shined so bright I almost wanted to smile with him.

After ogling him for a brief…_brief? _Excuse me, brief period of time I realized he was doing the same to me. But what could he possibly find appealing about me. I haven't showered…_which means you stink_, I didn't sleep much…_which means you have those disgusting dark circles under your eyes_, I haven't eaten…_do you ever_, I'm not even sure if I brushed my teeth…_you didn't_, and all I'm wearing is a pair of black boxers…_if he's horny that could be a plus for us_. "Um…hello?" _Very good, you've shown you can talk, it only took what, five minutes, genius!_

The blond visibly shook his head, brought his eyes up from my, well below my waist…_you can say dick, that's what he's inspecting. Thank heavens that's something we don't need to worry about_, and met my eyes. "Hi, I'm Demyx!" He held out his hand to me and I shook it, still completely confused. "I live upstairs," He then pointed to the ceiling. "And where the hell were you today?!"

"I um…w-what?" Who the fuck is this? _Someone who apparently missed you today._ Shut up!

"Can I come in?" He asked. _Of course!_

"Um…"

"Gracias!" The blond pushed pass me, walked into my living room, and sat down on my couch making himself at home. _Oh this is perfect, I think you found yourself a wife._ A smile consumed Demyx's face, almost as if he'd heard my inner annoying voice. "So where were you?"

"When?"

"Today."

"Where?"

"Uh, hello school! Have you never seen me before?" He demanded as I sat down across from him. _Sit closer damnit!_

"I don't really look at people, I just glance over them. Although I did see an old lady beat you with a bag of trash."

Demyx's eyes went wide at my words. "Did you see anything else?"

"No, I went to bed."

"Oh, good, good. So where were you? Wait! You went to bed at five o' clock?"

"I wasn't paying attention to the time. And I've been here all day. Why do you care?" _Because he wants you to make him your wife too._

"Well, I plan my day around your routine. And because…because I like you."

"You like me? But you don't know me." Who does this sexy man think he is, waltzing into my home, and telling me he likes me when we've never met before. _Take it as a compliment, bitch!_

"Oh, I think I do know you. See, when you write, you put your entire soul into every word of it. You'd have to be blind to not see you in your writing. And you'd have to be heartless to not fall in lo- like with you."

I raised my brows at him, "And where have you read my work before?"

"Garbage cans." _Cute and hot, that's an accomplishment._

Alright, he's getting weird. He thinks he loves me from poems he's read out of my trash. And he's checking up on me. He doesn't even know me! _So he's a tiny bit of a stalker, he's adorable. _"I think you're slightly delusional, and very insane. Have you talked to a doctor?"

"I have been to a doctor, they gave me pills, I threw them away. I'm not delusional, I'm hopeful, and I know I'm insane because I seem to have fallen in love with someone I hadn't met until today, which means I'm opening myself up to a lot of hurt. But I can't help it; all I can do is think about you and your lyrics. I dream about you, I day dream about one day working up the courage to talk to you, and hoping that could lead to more between us, and I think about you when I do stuff in the show-." Demyx suddenly stopped and looked like a deer in headlights.

I struggled not to laugh, "You gonna finish that?"

"No, no, I don't think I am." He said quietly, obviously frightened by what he'd said and my reaction to it. "I think…maybe I should go, since you're okay and all…"

As he began to rise from the couch I grabbed his arm and pulled him next to me. He was just so cute, and I missed talking to people, and damnit I wasn't ready for him to leave yet. _Hell no you aren't, he thinks about you in the shower, do you know what that means for us?_ Some part of me just wanted to get to know him, even if he was strange, and slightly stalkerish. "Don't leave yet, please." I begged after he crashed down next to me, eyes wide and on my chest, which he was now much closer to.

"What's your name?"

"It's Axel." I answered, "All this stalking and you didn't know my name?"

"I'm not a stalker!" He screeched in an incredibly cute way that made me want to have my way with him right there. _That's right. _ "I'm a persistent admirer."

"Uh huh."

"I'm not a stalker." He whined before changing the subject, "Why are you so sad?"

"Why do you think I'm sad?" His unexpected question brought me back to attention.

"Your lyrics."

"Those are poems…"

"I made them lyrics." Demyx interrupted.

"And just because my poems are sad doesn't mean I am…"

"But you are." He said as I continued to speak.

"What do you mean you made them lyrics? And stop talking while I'm talking!" I nearly yelled, then waited for him to answer me, but he didn't. Instead he had a backed a significant distance away from me and looked like he was waiting for me to say something. His hand nervously twisted his hoodie string in his fingers. "What are you doing?" I asked in a softer tone.

"You're a little frightening and very sexy when you're angry. I'm trying not to attack you with my tongue and waiting to see if you have anything more to say."

"Do you have a filter?"

"A filter?" Demyx's face squished in confusion.

"Yeah, you know, something that says, 'don't say this Demyx, it'll cause way more attention than you need'."

"I used to, but it gave up because I always told it to shut the fuck up and never listened to it. I think my pills were maybe supposed to fix that, but I wasn't paying attention to my doctor, it could have been something entirely different."

"Alright, well, ignoring the fact that you are struggling not to lick me, what do you mean you made my poems lyrics?"

"Well, after digging through your trash, I take the poems up to my apartment and write music for them. I'm you Elton John and you are my Bernie Taupin."

"Demyx, you're getting carried away, I'm not a lyricist."

"Gimme five minutes and I just might change your mind." He insisted.

"Fine, try it." I challenged and he pulled out a blue ipod.

"Come on, take them." He encouraged me as he handed the earphones to me. I gave him a questioning look before accepting them, "Put them in. Don't you trust me?"

"I just met you."

"Is that a yes or no?"

"Ugh…" I smiled and shook my head before placing the earphones in my ears. He was quite a character and I feared that I was beginning to like him, a little too much.

"I'm going to take that as a yes." He grinned and before I could comment on it I heard a beautiful piano in my ear. I was soft, so soft that one may not understand it and choose not to recognize it as a piece of music. And the melody was sad, but on the surface it seemed to try to be happy. Then I heard a drum enter, giving it a foreboding feel. Next a guitar was added, mimicking the piano. And finally I heard a voice. It was the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard and I almost missed the detail of the words. They were mine. He was singing my poems, and they were good. I looked up, wide eyed at Demyx, and he gave me two thumbs up and a Cheshire grin. I couldn't believe it. It actually sounded like something professional, like something I would listen to, like something people would pay to hear.

"Demyx…"

"You can write, "Cheshire grin still in place, he pointed a finger in my face, "I convinced you. It's like I stuck my claws into your body and took control over you in a passionate display of complete musical understanding and genius, convincing you that you are a good writer and you must surrender to my superior knowledge, which therefore means, you must bend to my every request. Oh," Demyx moved his finger into a 'one moment' pose and closed his eyes tight. "Bad choice of words, dirty thoughts, give me a minute."

"Giv-."

"Shh!"

My eyes widened again. I'd never met anyone quite like him. He was just so…irresistible. He was, he was, he is concentrating really hard on something. "You're not picturing me naked are you?"

"Oh fuck!" He hissed, and squeezed his eyes tighter, "I wasn't! I had just fixed that and now it's back."

"I think you're kind of cute Demyx." I said without thinking.

"Really?" He opened eyes and met mine.

"Yeah."

"Truly?" His face took on that puppy dog look of absolute devastation.

"Yes."

"For sure?" I couldn't take it anymore. It was like his lips were hypnotizing me, just begging me to taste them and the voice in my head was only egging me on. Without putting much thought into what I was doing I straddled Demyx's legs, linked our fingers together, and pressed my lips to his. It felt as good, if not better than I had imagined it would. He didn't fight me in the least and opened his mouth for me as soon as he processed what was happening. Our tongues danced passionately and I realized I was kissing a total stranger. My naked chest was pressed against him while my bare legs were wrapped around him, and our hands were clasped together above his head. But I didn't stop.

I didn't want to. It didn't matter to me that he was a stranger. All that mattered to me was that he seemed to make me feel. _So sappy._ That and my feet decided that the best place for me was on Demyx's lap. "Um…Axel?" Demyx murmured against my lips.

"Hmm?" I pulled back.

"This isn't exactly helping me get rid of those dirty thoughts." He gave me an apologetic look and I smiled. Where has he been my entire life? _Probably there the whole time but you've been too blind to see._

"Yeah, I can feel that." I smirked, lowering my hips a bit more and grinding against him. But now I felt bad. I knew we weren't going to go any farther than that. So I rolled off of him and let go of his hands.

"Not that I'm complaining." He laughed lightly, "You can keep doing that."

"No I can't Demyx. It's not fair to you. Let's change the subject, who was that singing in your song?"

"Our song. And that was me. Everything except the lyrics was me."

"Wow, really?" He's so talented. No wonder he was going to an art school. He actually had a reason for being there, unlike me. "You're really amazing."

"Oh, thank you, but you're unbelievable too. Without you I wouldn't be able to write. You're like, like, my muse. But you're more than just inspiration. You're kind of everything to me."

"Why? I mean how? What makes you think that?" Just being with him for under an hour has made me want to get to know him. He makes me want to _be something_ with him. But to mean everything to someone, doesn't that require a bit more time?

"It did take time for me." Oh fuck, I said it out loud. "Yes you did." God damnit! "You say almost everything you think out loud. In fact you talk to yourself out loud too. But Axel, the point is it's taken me two years…well it took me one year, and this past year I've just held onto the feelings. It's just, you put so much of yourself into your poems, I felt a connection. Axel I came here to make sure you hadn't killed yourself, not to make you love me. I've always known that wouldn't happen."

"You thought I killed myself?"

"It was a concern. In your songs, I mean poems, you have this fascination with death, and as the months go by it gets worse and worse. So yes Axel, I was really fucking scared. I skipped my last two classes and ran the whole way here."

"I'm not going to kill myself Demy, that would piss my parents off. And what do you mean I could never love you?" I asked a bit confused. I had just kissed him, and he doesn't think I can grow to love him. _Well to be fare you're an unfriendly person._

"Well yeah, people don't like me. It's my lack of _filter_. My uncle liked me I guess, but it wasn't in a good way. I told my mom, he got arrested, my dad divorced her and stopped talking to me, so my mom blames me for her unhappiness and being lonely, which means I pretty much tore apart my family. And my boyfriends break up with me as soon as I have sex with them, so I gave up on that. And it's just completely understandable for you to not like me, because no one else does."

"I kissed you."

"This is what I've learned, kisses mean nothing, hugs are just a way to shut me up, and touching means sex now, ass up."

"That's not what it means to me. Hugs mean many things, like let me show you that I care and that you're not alone. Kisses mean, you're special to me and I love or erm…uh like you. And touching means, let me show you how you make me feel. Let me show you how much I love you, or simply, let me show you that I'm always there for you, no matter what. But I've never really experienced any of that. It's just what I believe it should mean. You know, I don't think things like that should be as meaningless as people have made them today. I think that it should all be more special."

"So when you kissed me, you kissed me because…"

"Because Demyx, I would like to get to know you better, because I also feel a connection with you, and think I may just fall in love with you one day." And my feet didn't listen to me when I told them not to open the door. Yes I'm blaming my feet.

"Really?" The puppy look filled his face again.

"Are we going to do this again?"

"Well, the last time we did it you kissed me, and it felt amazing. I was just seeing if we could do that again."

"All you had to do was ask."

"Axel, will you kiss me?"

"No."

"What?" _What?!_

"Didn't you listen to what I said? You'll have to earn the next one, after our date."

"We have a date?"

"We do."

"When?"

"I don't know."

"Can it be soon, like Friday?"

"That's tomorrow."

"Oh I can't wait for our date on Friday Axel!"

"I didn't say it was…"

"I'm so happy!" Demyx jumped up and wrapped himself around my neck. I'm going to have to get used to his unique behaviors, but surprisingly enough, I'm finding I already love them. These damned feet! Don't they know falling in love wasn't part of the plan?

**AN: Well, the odd title should have been explained by now. I hope it was.**

**I probably could continue this story. I might, I don't know yet. I do like my characters though. I think they'd be fun to play with a little more.**

**I am still writing all of my other stories, Details and He Doesn't… chapters are both almost completely written. TCCI is in the middle of being typed, and Here at the Other Side, is somewhat planned out.**

**Thanks for any and all reviews favs and alerts.**


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